RvB: Late Nights
by Brovenger
Summary: Washington and his mysterious lover have a 'moment'.


**A/N: Because there isn't enough porn of Agent Washington in the world.

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Finger nails scrape against the yellow metal plating on his shoulders. Her hands clench the sides of them, tugging slightly as she pants in his ear. His mind vaguely registers a worrisome snapping sound, and the following day he'll notice the plates will start falling sideways a lot. His gloves and the accompanying protective piece over them are discarded on the floor next to them, along with her pants and his codpiece. His bare hands rest on her hips, keeping her upright as she leans into him. He kisses along her neck as she bounces on his lap, groaning every time he hits that right spot.

He shifts his position a little, resting one of his feet on the floor. He trails a hand up her side, making circles around her breast, teasing her. She grinds down on him and his breath hitches ever so slightly. He squeezes the soft flesh in his hand and rakes his teeth against her ear lobe. She lets out a hiss as they move together in a fluid motion, repeating the same sequence over and over.

Up, down.

Up, down.

Up, down.

_Harder._

Up, down.

_Faster._

Up, down.

Her breath starts coming in short bursts and she starts that damn squeaky whine he hates so much. It's unintentional, of course, she hates it too. Under the circumstances, trying to be quiet, it's unavoidable. He brings his hand up and grabs her face, taking advantage of her parted lips her slips his tongue in her mouth. The squeaky stops, thankfully, to be replaced with sound of air coming out of her nostrils. He feels the air on his cheeks as she wraps her arms around his neck, digging into him more. Her tongue brushes against his and a jolt of electricity runs down her throat, settling in her stomach and groin.

He squeezes his free hand down between them, fingering around her labia, pressing his palm against her outside. A shiver runs through her as she digs her nails into his scalp, her finger tangling in his hair. He brings his leg back up on the bed and leans back a little, a _tink_ as his armor hits the metal frame of the bed echoes around them. His change in position causes her to fall forward slightly. She removes her hands from his hair, for that he's thankful- it was starting to hurt- and braces her hands on his plated chest.

The metal is cold against her hands.

His hands are back on her hips, guiding her on and off him. He tries, damn it, but his hips move in sync with hers. His booted heels dig into the mattress as he cranes his head back against the wall, grinding his teeth. She's back to the huffing as he hits the _exact_, perfect space inside her. The little spot seems to bloom, sending a rosy feeling throughout the whole channel. She blinks and her draw drops open as she realizes she's almost there.

He feels her start to tighten around him, and she heats up a little more. The pressure and heat around his erection causes him to grip her hips even tighter and pick up his pace. She's gasping now, and he thrusts almost erratically as the both of them try to hasten what's coming; no longer able to deal with the 'almost there' sensation.

And then she comes before he does.

It's a steady stream of hot, burning liquid. She scratches at the squishy layer of under armor that's exposed around his neck as she begs for him not to stop so she can ride out the orgasm. He ejaculates in the middle of her wave of pleasure and his mind goes blank for a few seconds as everything but the feeling coursing through his veins is drowned out.

She falls against him as she comes down, leaning her head on his arm and panting heavily. He blinks a few times as his own pleasure begins to fade away. He can see the rise and fall of her silhouette in the night and every detail seems clearer than normal. He moves his hand from her hip to her head and runs his fingers through her hair.

They fall into silence for a while as they both try to regain proper thinking. Finally, he speaks up and his voice holds a slight tone of mirth;

"I hope you know it's gonna take me forever to get this shit off my armor."

She chuckles and bit, but slaps her hand against his chest, not that it does much. "It was _your_ idea, Washington," she retorts.

"Yes, but it's _your _fetish," he snaps back as quickly. She sits up straight and opens her mouth to respond, but they both know it's checkmate on that one. Instead she shrugs and climbs off his lap. She retreats to the corner of the bed and drags the blanket from it's balled-up position at the other end.

It doesn't take her five minutes to fall asleep.

She wakes up a bit later and notices that he's snuggled up next to her, an arm draped over her. He's out of his armor entirely and she briefly wonders when he removed it and what he'll use to clean it with.

She supposes that shall be tomorrows adventure.


End file.
